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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27007963">With You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicpic/pseuds/nicpic'>nicpic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Disco Elysium (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, M/M, POV Kim, they eat breakfast and theyre happy :')</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:35:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>492</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27007963</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicpic/pseuds/nicpic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>this is based on a prompt by luminality (https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminality) on the disco elysium writing server! the prompt was as follows: "Shortfic prompt (500 words or less) - Morning Routine."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kim Kitsuragi/Jean Vicquemare</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>With You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You wake first. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Light spills gold upon his face, each divot brimming yellow, each strand highlighted in definition—he looks radiant, peaceful; lips parted, fragments of scraggly beard waving with each breath. You take a moment to drink it in, then as gently as possible, press your lips to his forehead: the sediments of affection drifting down the sunlight-strewn canals of your reawakening mind. He grumbles but does not wake, thankfully.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The carpet is soft under your feet. A spare toothbrush awaits you in the bathroom. Done with that, you quietly pad out into the kitchen, unfamiliar to you still, but something you have time to memorize, bit by bit, visit by visit. The first time you had tried to open his fridge, he had stopped you, remarking that there was nothing there. You look in it now; a fresh carton of eggs, unspoiled milk, butter, and several other foodstuffs line the shelves. You smile. He bought the brands you prefer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You reach into the fridge and cupboard and take out what you need, unhooking the apron on the wall and tying it around your waist. You turn on the coffee pot and refill it with beans. As the stove heats up, two griddles resting upon the iron prongs, you mix your dry ingredients together in a bowl, then pour in the milk, melted butter, and single egg. The pan is hot enough; you pour the mixture, two circles at a time, upon the pre-oiled metal surface. On the other, you cut up a sausage and watch it sizzle in the morning light.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lumbering footsteps, then muscled arms, still warm from the bed, wrap into your waist behind you. A rough chin drops onto your right shoulder; slow, strong reverberations echoing from his heart into your spine. “...Pancakes?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” You check the undersides. They’re ready. “Would you take care of the sausages?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” You suppress a twinge of regret as the warmth leaves your back. He takes position beside you and picks up a spatula. You pick up your pan and in one swift motion, flip the pancakes. He grins. You restart the process, and when the sausages are done, he cracks two eggs in the remaining grease: one sunny-side up and one over easy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The resulting breakfast is akin to a feast, especially for two underpaid RCM officers. You pour a glass of milk for yourself then fill his mug with the finished coffee. He plates the sausages and eggs, giving you the sunny-side up and himself the over easy. You stack three pancakes on each plate, then rummage around for a bottle of syrup. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine. I know you find it too sweet.” He gently grasps your wrist and drags you to the dining table. You sit. He takes a butter knife and deposits a pat on both your piles, steam already melting the edges transparent.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You smile and indulge in your shared meal. Today will be a nice day.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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